


Dog Days

by BC_Brynn



Series: Trust Your Nose [7]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Hokage no Kage, Icha Icha Series, Iruka on the Warpath, M/M, The Council - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BC_Brynn/pseuds/BC_Brynn
Summary: Iruka tries to become a jounin. Kakashi investigates why the latest Icha Icha contains private details from his life. Jiraiya is caught between a rock and a hard place. Hiruzen teaches hard lessons as gently as he can.





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

> First of the prequel stories! Chronologically, this happens during Trust Your Nose, some time after the Uchiha Massacre but before Iruka starts teaching Naruto at the Academy. 
> 
> Iruka is eighteen in this part, Kakashi is twenty-three, and they have been together for over a year. Yes, I know the age difference is a little iffy. They’re ninja – tell me more about healthy lifestyles.
> 
> I gave depth to Icha Icha. It feels like sacrilege. Also, not my fault. It was entirely unintentional. Damn you, Jiraiya! Apropos, did you want to know about Iruka’s grudge against Jiraiya mentioned in Cave Canem? Here’s what happened.
> 
> Also, some of this is basically my headcanon regarding the rank of jounin – what it means, how does anybody get promoted to it, why I think that a ‘jounin exam’ is a completely absurd concept, and even individual assessments are probably more of an exception than a rule.

There were two ways of becoming a jounin outside of a shinobi war.

One was a merit promotion (the peacetime equivalent of field promotion) and awarded quite rarely, since anyone who experienced such a meteoric rise in skill had to have a lot of ambition – ambition that would drive him to apply for the rank as well.

The alternative was signing up for an evaluation and meeting the requirements. The process was quite different from the chuunin exams; there was no audience and quite possibly no eliminations-style tournament either. The exams would, naturally, be far more comprehensive. And the ninja in question had to sign up themselves – there was no jounin-sensei to take care of the administration this time.

Iruka found the last point a little suspicious. He knew that there was a form specifically for applying for jounin evaluation.

However, he only knew this because he had worked part-time in the Hokage Tower administration since he was a gennin.

He knew he would not succeed. Not yet. But past experience said he needed to fail first before he could succeed, and he could fail right now.

His apprenticeship at the Academy was going well so far. Mitsuhara-sensei seemed happy with him, and Iruka thought that he would maybe get a few lessons to teach solo next semester.

This was the ideal time to try.

He filled in the application and put it in Sandaime-sama’s inbox before he left for the night.

x

Kakashi had many reasons to be proud of himself.

Discounting all the obvious ones – like his A- to S-class in various bingo books, being the White Fang’s son, having been taught by the Yondaime, or managing to get his first ANBU captain to rage-quit and thus getting promoted to take his place – there were many accomplishments that had escaped the general public (not that his ANBU performance was public information). Kakashi had the _complete_ collection of all _Icha Icha_ and _Ero Ero_ books.

He also had a boyfriend that couldn’t have been better suited to him if Kakashi had built an artificial one himself. And, finally, he had gotten said boyfriend to gradually read through the complete collection of _Icha Icha_ and _Ero Ero_ books (even though he had never quite managed to inspire in him the same level of appreciation).

His accomplishments, Kakashi realised, were now coming back to bite him in the arse.

“Kakashi…” Iruka spoke at a hair-raisingly equanimous tone. “Please reassure me that the author of this book is not actually writing about _us_.” He was holding said book open in his lap; it seemed to be split about half-way, so Iruka must have reached the Memorial Stone scene.

Kakashi had been awaiting this moment since yesterday (as the book had been out for two days and they were both fast readers). “…saa… Iruka…”

His lover flipped over to the cover and tried to find some information about the author – there was none, of course, and that should have been enough to put any suspicious mind on alert. “How did they even… Okay, you know this person, I think I knew that you knew them. But I didn’t realise that you shared confidences.”

“He’s…” There was not much that Kakashi could say. He shrugged. “There was alcohol.”

“This makes even less sense,” Iruka replied, because he knew Kakashi far too well.

Kakashi wasn’t the type to drink much, and definitely not so much that he stopped being in control of himself. He never said more than he intended, and never drank so much that he couldn’t remember everything that happened (although he didn’t deny that he was cheating with the Sharingan if Gai was involved).

“It does, doesn’t it,” Kakashi agreed, casting about for an explanation that might exonerate him. “I guess the one thing you would need to know to make it make sense is confidential. I’ll tell you, but you’ll have to keep it to yourself.”

Iruka looked down at the grey book with orange accents, perfectly ridiculous, and then up at Kakashi. “I’m cleared for secrets up to A-rank, situationally S.”

“I think this is an A,” Kakashi mused. He wondered if it was just a need-to-know thing, or if there was an actual file in the Hokage’s archives. “Not entirely sure, but let’s say it is. The author is Jiraiya of the Sannin.”

“Oh.” Iruka looked down at the book again, and then survived the bookcase, eyes moving along the two shelves dedicated to the Toad Sage’s prose. “Your… sensei’s sensei.”

He made it sound like a closer relationship than it truly was. Perhaps if they had grieved together after they had mutually lost Namikaze Minato they might have achieved some sort of a sensei-by-proxy relationship, but Jiraiya had never been there.

And, for all Kakashi cared after reading _Ero Ero Paradigm_ , Jiraiya could go cast himself in one of the porn movies based on his books.

“That is a problem,” Iruka commented faux-lightly.

“…it is?”

“Yes.” Iruka held the book upside-down in a two-fingered grip, and looked like he was seriously considering setting it on fire. “I was going to take revenge for this… libel. But if I focus on the Academy, I won’t have a chance to leave the village in the near future, and he doesn’t come here, so that makes it quite complicated.”

Kakashi should have known that Jiraiya’s ranking as a Kage-level shinobi with Senjutsu wouldn’t be the catch for Iruka. Unfortunately, that led him straight to the realisation that deprived of the primary target of his ire, Iruka would likely redirect his attention to the secondary target.

Which was, at the moment, Kakashi himself.

Crap.

Kakashi pinched the bridge of his nose and traced the lower lid of Obito’s eye with his thumb. “I didn’t tell him anything intimate-”

“Yes,” Iruka stopped him, “the explicit scenes were far too elaborate and… loquacious?”

Kakashi sniggered. Jiraiya wrote porn dialogue as if capital letters were going out of fashion. Moreover, some of that stuff was impossible to do in real life without chakra control on level that couldn’t be upheld in throes of passion… and it would definitely result in injuries _no one_ wanted to have to explain to an iryounin.

Iruka wasn’t amused, though. He seemed upset… No. _Beyond_ upset. He reacted to upset with pranks.

He seemed hurt-? distraught-? Not grieving, though. This was unfamiliar.

Kakashi accepted the book from his hands and skimmed the open page. It was a romantic scene; the most scandalous occurrence in it was handholding. But he knew exactly what about it had hit Iruka so hard.

It was almost word for word their joint visit to the Memorial Stone and the mutual introduction to each other’s families (regardless of whose name was or wasn’t carved there).

“I didn’t tell him this,” Kakashi said softly, hoping that Iruka would believe him. “I was drunk-” Enough to mention Iruka; enough to admit to the discovery of home and hope and happiness. “-but not _that_ drunk.”

Iruka met his eye and held the contact. His mouth turned downward and a wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, but he seemed to _want_ to believe Kakashi. Even though it was difficult. Of course it was. No one else had been there at the Memorial.

That they had known about.

There was the issue of the crystal ball.

Still, Kakashi suspected that claiming the Hokage’s involvement would have been too absurd for Iruka to take it for anything but a feeble fib. But Jiraiya was undeniably involved – Jiraiya, who was far closer to Sarutobi Hiruzen than he had ever been to Kakashi. That was worth the benefit of doubt, wasn’t it?

“I’ll…” He wanted to promise that he would figure it out, but if the Sandaime truly had been involved, then he didn’t have a reasonable hope of succeeding. _But_ , he could try a different, unconventional technique. “…I’ll find Jiraiya and ask.”

x

Iruka must have been less accomplished at hiding his dark moods than he had fancied himself to be, because Mizuki had tactfully called him on his lack of vim and then promptly invited him to visit his home. With the understanding that Iruka would get to meet Mizuki’s mysterious (but apparently absolutely real) girlfriend.

Iruka stood in front of the door of the indicated apartment three minutes early. He resolved to wait-

Mizuki opened the door. “Iruka-kun! Come on, come in; let me introduce you. This is Tsubaki-san,” he said excitedly, beckoning at Iruka and leading him into their shared home.

“Excuse my intrusion,” said Iruka. He toed off his sandals and stepped onto the tatami floor. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Mizuki talks about you a lot.”

It was a white lie, sadly. Mizuki mentioned Tsubaki, of course, as was inevitable when you lived with someone (and weren’t keeping it a secret), but it seemed as though he had made it a point to not mix his personal and his professional life. As far as Iruka knew he was the first person from the Academy Mizuki had invited to meet his girlfriend.

Iruka agreed that the reticence was in compliance with the Shinobi Code, but he felt that a woman as lovely as Tsubaki-san, and as smart (she was a tokubetsu jounin on the medical track, which was about all he had managed to glean from Mizuki prior to today) deserved to be appreciated.

He wasn’t sure what this said about him and his relationship. Especially in light of the discomfort ( _wrath_ , let’s call a kunai a kunai) that he had felt reading the latest installment in Kakashi’s favourite book series.

“Welcome, Umino-san,” the kunoichi spoke softly. “Please, take a place. Excuse the poor offerings.”

Iruka glanced over the kotatsu laden with various food articles. So, Tsubaki-san was _that_ kind of a host. He wasn’t really comfortable with this artificial deference, but since he was a guest it behooved him to respond in kind.

“I am too honoured by your invitation, Tsubaki-san.” Iruka knelt on the floor, placed his palms together and bowed. Damn Mizuki for not telling him his partner’s family name!

Mizuki laughed at him. Uproariously.

Tsubaki-san suddenly grinned. “Forgive us the joke, Iruka-san.”

“He fell for it!” Mizuki cried. “We pranked the prankster!”

Iruka had to laugh, too. He hadn’t really thought that Mizuki was the type to enjoy such overt formality, but people were often different within the privacy of their homes and – well, he hadn’t spent much time with his once-friend ever since they were separated when Mizuki became a gennin and Iruka was sent back to the Academy for another semester.

“Well,” he said as their chuckles tapered off, “it’s great to finally meet you _for real_.”

x

Kakashi took a relaxing mission to get rid of some bandits in the Wave Country. They had started to form some sort of a wide-spread organization, which was never good news: there was a lot of them, concentrated at several bases, and according to latest intel they had a supply of explosives.

He had refused a partner for the mission, arguing that his ninken were all the back-up he needed, but asked for an extension on the deadline, just in case. He had been given two weeks to kill less than a hundred civilians.

He was done in five days, and spent the rest of the time tracking down Jiraiya.

In the end it was – unsurprisingly – Jiraiya who had tracked down Kakashi. He seemed to take the identity of his stalker with humour, and didn’t need any hints to figure out why Kakashi had sought him out.

“What?!” Jiraiya exclaimed in lieu of a greeting. “It was a good story! And I made sure no one can figure out that it was about you or your incestuously adopted little bro-”

He dodged the Raikiri.

Kakashi couldn’t get rid of the memory of hurt on Iruka’s face.

“You realise you’re attacking a Konoha ninja?” Jiraiya inquired conversationally. “Your superior officer, technically?”

So, it had been a test. And Kakashi had failed it.

He had to admit that no one except himself and Iruka would have been able to connect the characters to the real people, and their only non-circumstantial clue was the Memorial scene (which, irritatingly, in the book came in the wake of a wedding scene – non-official, and chock-full of angst, due to the laws of the fictional village that didn’t consider homosexual partnerships _real_ ).

Understanding made Kakashi subside. He had thought that scene to be sheer disregard for privacy and betrayal of confidences. He had prepared the accusation word for word, thinking that Jiraiya had casually stomped over Kakashi and Iruka’s lives for fun and profit.

To find out that Jiraiya had a good reason, a _reasonable_ reason, which probably included a direct order from the Hokage (not that anyone involved would ever admit to it) turned his anger into bitterness and resignation.

“I apologise for the jutsu, Jiraiya- _sama_ ,” he said stiffly. “I’ll fully understand if you feel the need to report me-”

“Nah, brat. Just some sparring that got out of hand. My bad. Should have been more specific when I set the parameters.”

The old man understood far too well. Perhaps he sympathised with Kakashi, too – unless he had changed drastically he had probably hated constructing and baiting this trap. He had still done it, of course; everything for the good of Konoha.

Kakashi’s heart skipped a beat.

He had _failed_ the test.

They weren’t going to let them keep-

“Sake?” Jiraiya offered. “I find it helps with the shock-”

Kakashi faked a chuckle, and with a wide grin (just as artificial) spoke: “I would, but I promised somebody _very special_ that I would be back to keep him warm tonight, so I’ve got to get on my way. I’ll see you around, Jira-”

“Sorry about this, brat,” said the old man.

Everything went dark.

x

Iruka received the summons to a meeting in the Hokage’s office just after his last class of the day had ended. It had been a while since he had had the opportunity to sit down with Sandaime-sama, and he expected that it would be a gossip session couched as tea and reporting, as usual.

He had not expected the attending committee.

There was the Council of Elders, the Jounin Commander, the head of the T&I (whose title Iruka technically shouldn’t have known, but there were only so many bureaucratic contacts within that department) and a few other people whom he recognised, but couldn’t even guess at the reason for their presence.

“Umino Iruka-kun,” Hokage-sama said formally as Iruka took stock of his surroundings, “your application for promotion to the rank of jounin is hereby rejected. The reason is failure to meet the requirements of the rank. The test has been applied; the results were conclusive.”

Iruka felt his heart sink. He had to employ his chakra-dispersion trick to keep from flushing deep red.

More fool him for expecting an official notice and standardised testing the way it was done at the chuunin exams. Still – did they have to do this in front of the full committee? Did Sandaime-sama have to humiliate him so thoroughly?

Had Iruka thought it was worth the try? Stupid! It absolutely had not been-

“There is a reason for the tokujo level existing, Iruka-kun,” said Shikaku-san, glancing up form a report in his hand. “Many tokubetsu jounin have the skill of a jounin, but do not have the mentality. It would be a disservice to both them and the village to either keep them at the rank of chuunin or to promote them to jounin.”

“I do not have the skill of a jounin,” Iruka replied blandly – this had been apparent in how his application had been dealt with. He suspected that if he could have been seriously considered as a candidate, he would not be so easily blindsided by this setup.

He could not even imagine Kakashi walking into this room without knowing exactly what he was about to face and… well, that sense of dependability was what he loved about his partner. He had never trusted anyone as easily, not since his parents had died, and it was because he _knew_ that Kakashi had things under control.

On the other hand, he now felt like a complete moron for even entertaining the idea of rising to those ranks. He was reliable within his own purview, but he didn’t make _this_ cut.

“You have your own talents,” Sarutobi-sama assured him, “and believe me when I say they are inimitable and essential to Konoha. Listen to me, Iruka. If you trained night and day, you could get to that level skill-wise. You could. But you’ll never have the mentality. So Konoha would gain one passable tokujo – and lose one amazing teacher. So I’m telling you to stop.”

Iruka didn’t need the order. But he took it – both as the loyal shinobi _he_ was, and as the out _it_ was. This was the dead end of his career then. Umino Iruka, chuunin for life. “Understood, Hokage-sama.” He should have known better than to try and stretch so far beyond his limits.

“Piss of with that hang-dog attitude, Umino!” exclaimed Tsume-sama (Iruka barely suppressed the urge to flinch). “You’re not jounin material. Who the fuck cares? You think the rank would make you happy? You think you would enjoy S-rank assassinations?”

“No, Ma’am.” Iruka had always worked toward the rank with the knowledge of what it entailed, thinking that it was his responsibility to take on the burden as long as it was within his capabilities. But it was not within his capabilities by the order of the Hokage, so it followed that he would never be assigned to those missions.

He wondered if it was all deliberate. If he was being cut off at the ankles here for the sole purpose of not letting him into that elite club.

Either way, this was it. Academy and Missions Desk – the rest of Iruka’s life buried under a pile of paperwork of widely varying quality.

“Damn right you wouldn’t!” barked Tsume-sama. “So why the fuck are you after something you don’t want?”

“Legacy, Inuzuka-sama,” Iruka said quietly. And his injured pride, of course, but that would have to recover on its own somehow. Still, legacy was a universally acknowledged excuse within the shinobi circles, so simply stating his mother’s rank shielded Iruka from accusations of jumped-upedness. “I do not have much else left of my family.”

“You burn with the Will of Fire, Iruka-kun,” Sandaime-sama said so predictably that it felt insulting. “Brighter than many. I knew your Mother, so take my word for it – that is her legacy.”

Iruka took the word, although he did liberally salt it before the taking, and it went down about as easily as umeboshi ever did. No need to protract this tooth-pulling, he decided.

With a bow, he took his leave.

It was already dark outside, but the air was still warm. The breeze cooled him down a little, which was especially helpful once Iruka released the jutsu on his face and felt the rush of blood in his cheeks.

Chuunin for life, huh? Nowhere to go from here.

But, he reminded himself, here wasn’t such a bad place to stay…?

He growled at himself, startling a gennin messenger so badly the girl jumped into a wall. _You can relax now, Iruka_ , He mocked inside his head _. Stop struggling so hard, Iruka_. _You have achieved enough, Iruka_.

Enough? Whose idea of ‘enough’ was this? And why should _their_ ‘enough’ matter to Iruka?

He was not going to stop! He was going to fight, and learn, and better himself, until this feeling of not being good _enough_ went away, because no matter how many times anybody told him, Iruka _knew_ that they were placating him. This was something he could only decide for himself – he took that responsibility. It was part of being his own person. Adulthood, if you wanted to call it that. Blindly believing someone else’s idea of what was right for him was a childish thing.

And Iruka could do _better_ than that.

x

“We done here now?”

“Tsume-”

“Great. I’ve got hungry kids at home. Gotta go.” She left with an entirely unnecessary swirl of leaves.

The room heaved a collective sigh; some with the sense of relief, others with exasperation. The sigh coalesced into the expression of their shared amused and annoyed tolerance of the boy’s folly. Really, the whole production had been unnecessary; most applicants simply received a memo that their application had been rejected.

In Iruka’s case, Hiruzen had a very good reason for the whole song and dance.

“That young man is not nearly as hopeless as you suggested, Hokage-sama…?” muttered Shikaku.

Hiruzen eyed him from the shadow of his Hat. Iruka was the furthest thing from ‘hopeless’ he had encountered over the course of his career, save for perhaps Tobirama-sensei himself. Even that was debatable. Iruka had a wealth of common sense, which was so uncommon in the more capable shinobi that the administration had been forced to make weirdness into an institution simply to dodge all the claims of insanity in the ranks.

He had plans for Iruka, and no one – Shikaku and Danzo included – were getting their hands on the boy. Iruka-kun was perfectly placed just where he was.

“I suggested something?” Hiruzen said mildly.

Shikaku raised one eyebrow. Then he made the expression Hiruzen privately labelled ‘oh, very well, I shall lower myself to pointing out the obvious if that is your wish, Hokage-sama’ and said: “You made sure he would never try again.”

“Good,” Hiruzen replied, feeling well-satisfied with his accomplishment. Iruka was still young and a little naïve, insomuch as a chuunin could be naïve, but manipulating him so subtly hadn’t been easy at all.

“You _want_ him to remain a chuunin indefinitely,” Koharu stated, implying a host of questions regarding Hiruzen’s motivation.

“He is close to Hatake Kakashi,” Shikaku remarked, the eyebrow still raised, sounding nonchalant but hitting the point with remarkable accuracy. His expression had morphed into barely-there smug self-congratulation.

“Ah,” said Koharu. “And keeping Umino safe in the village is easier than… disentangling them?”

“Aside from the fact that Iruka-kun is truly remarkably good at what he does,” Hiruzen admonished, “I’m afraid time for any attempts at sabotaging that relationship has long since passed. It came to our attention far too late.” The oversight had been a kick in the pants, but Hiruzen and his people had had too many other things to worry about in between Minato-kun’s death, the aftermath of the Kyuubi disaster, the resulting destabilisation and a brink of another shinobi war which they had barely averted, Danzo’s machinations that pushed the lines of even ninja morality, and then Hizashi and Fugaku and… by the time anyone noticed, Kakashi was _living with Iruka_ in the _death do us part_ sense.

Perhaps, if they had acted immediately, there had been a chance to drive a wedge between them. Hiruzen had considered it for the lasting of a pipe. The boys could have been separated – and then what? He had honestly been astonished at how well Kakashi-kun had managed to heal from his losses, and was under no delusion about how much of that healing could be attributed to Iruka-kun.

No, if he had separated them, he would have been left with one bitter, angry teenager and perhaps half a broken young man.

“No,” he said to his advisors, “this is by far the better outcome.”

“All this maneuvering to cater to Hatake’s mental state, Hiruzen?” grumbled Homura.

Hiruzen re-lit his pipe. He sucked in air with reflex almost as old as he himself was, and scowled at his erstwhile teammate through the first plume of tobacco smoke. “I remember who carries most of Konoha’s weight. Let us not forget that we need our pillars stable.”

“All ninja are by definition expendable,” Danzo reminded him.

Danzo, incidentally, had turned into a complete moron during Hiruzen’s temporary retirement. But a wily, brilliant moron, and those were the most dangerous of all.

Hiruzen bit down on the mouthpiece and cursed himself twice – once for all the oversights in the beginnings of his second term as Hokage which had resulted in the mess he was dealing with now, and the second time for the damage he had just done to his pipe.

“I have plans for Kakashi-kun,” he said simply. “Let’s close this meeting. Shikaku, keep an eye on Kurenai. I think she’ll figure it out soon enough.”

They rose to their feet with rustle of clothing and scraping of chair legs, like a bunch of Academy children. At least they weren’t clinking. Sure, making noise in social settings was a courtesy, but Hiruzen’s hearing hadn’t deteriorated nearly as much as they seemed to think it had.

Danzo was the only one who didn’t make a sound – and instead of reassuring Hiruzen, it made him wary. If Danzo didn’t show him courtesy, it was because he did not feel respect. Tricky. Potentially dangerous.

The last thing Hiruzen needed was for the _Shadow of the Fire Shadow_ – as Danzo had come to faux-humorously call himself – to start meddling with matters concerning Konoha administration. After the man had thrown an exploding tag into the middle of the situation with Fugaku, Hiruzen was on the lookout for a misstep obvious enough to give him an excuse.

“Hiruzen, are you sure about this?” Koharu asked, worried, once the men were all out the door. The lines on her forehead deepened into valleys. “Hatake tried to assassinate you – and you showed him far too much mercy. Don’t put your trust into someone who already betrayed it.”

He looked into his old teammate’s eyes, gauging her motivation for this piece of poor advice. She seemed earnest in her concern; although he recalled that she had been one of Hatake Sakumo’s more outspoken detractors, and she had never warmed to the White Fang’s son either.

“I had just been party to the sacrifice of his teacher’s life,” Hiruzen reminded her. “I dare say if some old man had killed Tobirama-sensei, we would have been keen on revenge, too.”

“Someone did kill Tobirama-sensei,” Koharu reminded him in turn. “And we had the presence of mind not to start a mindless slaughter in response.”

“If that is the analogy you would use,” he replied, genuinely peeved, “then perhaps those of our age are far too removed from the reality of youth to rule wisely. It’s not about us, anymore, and not about our children either. Koharu, _our children are old, too_.”

She flinched as if struck. For all that she had never had children herself, she did have students, and was fond of many of them. Still, it had been a long time since she retired from active duty, and that dissociation made it easier to regard Konoha as an entity, without noticing the individual lives of which it consisted.

Hiruzen never denied to himself that he had been extremely lenient with Kakashi’s punishment because he had agreed with the boy. If not for the duty dropped back onto his so recently liberated shoulders, Hiruzen might have let Kakashi strike him down on that fateful morrow.

“If that helps you sleep at night,” his old friend muttered tartly.

Hiruzen scoffed. “Well, I do not stay up late frightened that _young_ Kakashi will come after me with a kunai.” Then he sighed. Age carried with it a bone-deep exhaustion, and right now he was feeling all his years (the ones he had spent wearing the Hat thrice). “Go have a rest, Koharu.”

“ _Good night_ ,” she stressed, finally taking her leave.

Hiruzen watched her go and put his pipe back into his mouth. He allowed himself a little bit of schadenfreude.

Oh, hopefully he would have the chance to see her face once she learned that he had named Kakashi his successor.

x

Jiraiya cut the ropes and removed the seal.

Kakashi didn’t move. He remained sitting with his back to the post, stiff and unsure if an attempt to stand would send a new cascade of cramps throughout his body. He realised the futility of expressing his emotions, too. Glaring would accomplish nothing.

Jiraiya had been his sensei’s sensei – not Kakashi’s own sensei. There were no bonds of personal loyalty between them, apparently.

If Kakashi tried to be honest with himself, he had to admit that he had felt a sense of kithship with the Toad Sage, even through the years of the man’s absence. Obviously the Hokage had known, and used it accordingly – Kakashi would have trusted few other people enough to talk about anything personal.

It was a lesson about childishness, about clinging to those who had cast you off. He could see underneath – to the lesson about the realities of shinobi life (as if he hadn’t been well aware of them), and what loyalty meant when weighed against another loyalty. Jiraiya seemed to be trying to show to Kakashi that a ninja carried out his orders, even when those orders were harmful to those he cared for.

It was like everyone had forgotten his peers used to call him _Nakama no Goroshi_.

Bullshit, Kakashi thought. Maybe when he was younger, before Obito and Rin and Minato-sensei died, he might have fallen for this. His Father’s fate was the most ambiguous example ever – the White Fang was a traitor or a hero depending on something as fickle as personal interpretation.

Well, Minato-sensei had taught Kakashi that the only right way of living your life was according to your conscience, so Jiraiya could go fuck himself.

(Maybe that would give him the inspiration he needed to write a book that wasn’t about people he knew.)

The Sage sighed. “At least give me the stink eye or something, kid.”

It was really quite possible that the man just didn’t realise how much time had passed. Kakashi wasn’t a teenager anymore, and a lot had happened in his life that had given him anchors he had previously lacked. This… brainwashing, or whatever it was supposed to be, had come far too late.

“I told the old monkey!” Jiraiya grumbled. “I told him, but did he listen to me? No. I said, don’t fuck with a man’s lover if you don’t want him to come after you.”

“If they’ve done anything to Iruka…” Kakashi’s sight blurred. Two tears of sheer despair leaked out; the one from Obito’s eye coloured everything pink.

“They wouldn’t touch a hair on your boy’s head,” Jiraiya reassured him.

After what they had already done, Kakashi didn’t believe him.

“I will come for the Sandaime, and this time I won’t let him stop me.” He wasn’t sure how he would go about it, but he would have time to figure it out. Or he would die trying. That would also be a solution.

Jiraiya sighed again. “Damn it, brat, this is exactly why we’re in this situation! You’re too damn impulsive by half! Haven’t you learnt anything? That boy of yours is your weakness, and now _everybody_ knows it. Whoever wants to control you will come after _him_ first. And, trust me, there are far less scrupulous men in Konoha than Sensei.”

While Kakashi searched for an appropriately descriptive suggestion on what the Toad Sage could go perform upon himself, said Sage himself crouched down and flicked Kakashi’s forehead hard enough to slam his head backwards against the post.

“Listen to me, kid. Are you listening? I agreed to do this shit, because if I hadn’t they were going to do it far less gently.”

“Why us?” Kakashi finally asked. That was the one thing he didn’t understand. “You can’t tell me you do this to every couple in Konoha.”

“Not nearly enough books for that,” Jiraiya agreed dryly. “Working on the sixteenth now. Number fifteen’s off at the printing house.”

“Why us?” Kakashi repeated. Usually he would have been all over any _Icha Icha_ -related information; recently he had found himself turned off of the series.

Jiraiya raised a fist to bop him on the head, but Kakashi finally forced himself to move. He dodged the not really very fast or hard punch, and stood with the post in between him and the Sage. As expected, a wave of pain struck through his limbs. He gritted his teeth against it and widened his stance.

“Because we can’t have a Hokage Contender controlled through a _chuunin-level_ hostage!” Jiraiya snapped, out of patience.

Kakashi set his fingers into the ram seal. “Kai.”

Jiraiya rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a genjutsu, brat. Wake up and smell the smoke! Who do you think is even in the running? Danzo? Granted, not sure he’d be that much worse than Orochimaru. Me? Yeah, right. Tsunade?”

Even Kakashi scoffed at that suggestion.

“ _Itachi_?”

Kakashi shuddered, and it wasn’t entirely due to the full-body sensation of pins and needles. “You’re telling me Konoha doesn’t have enough overpowered jounin, and they have to resort to nominating someone who had already once been sentenced to death-by-ANBU?”

“What the holy toad are you talking about?” Jiraiya demanded.

Kakashi smiled. It was an ugly smile, and even though it couldn’t be seen through his mask, wielding its cutting edge made him feel so much better. “So the Sandaime didn’t tell you I tried to kill him?”

“What?!”

Oh, that had felt good. But it had been stupid, so very stupid. Kakashi wasn’t sure he would be able to escape Jiraiya, if the Sage really wanted to avenge his teacher’s attempted murder.

“Oh…”

Kakashi startled. He hadn’t expected such a rapid change of mood.

“… _that_ old story.” Jiraiya flapped his hand, as though it was the most banal thing he had ever heard. “Sheesh, kid, you said it like it was something serious.”

It _had_ been serious. Kakashi had honestly meant to do it. He would have done it, if he hadn’t been so messed up from utterly failing to do anything against the Nine-tailed Demon.

Then the Sage suddenly lost the mocking mien, and his eyes bore into Kakashi with uncomfortable intensity. “And what do you mean sentenced to death? Sensei said he just told Inoichi to sit you down with Falcon so he could give you something constructive to do…?”

Kakashi considered that.

Well… now that he thought about it… it sort of might have happened that way. Huh. So… for the past decade he had mistakenly thought the Sandaime wanted him to die in the course of his duty.

“Whoops.”

x

“Don’t be so glum, Iruka-kun. This is just like old times!” Mizuki enthused. “Isn’t it? The two of us, together at the Academy – this time not as classmates, but as colleagues.”

Iruka smiled. “It’s been really good to reconnect.” His melancholia was entirely unwarranted and his disappointment childish.

Things _were_ good. Iruka had been enjoying his return to the Academy so far. He liked teaching. He even liked the kids, although that was somehow _in spite_ of them. Perhaps it would have been more honest to say that he _loved_ them, and that was enough to get over his _dislike_ of them.

Mizuki was in the same shoes, and they re-bonded over it.

“I missed your mayhem,” Mizuki said cheerfully, attracting the attention of all the other teachers present in the lounge.

Daikoku-sensei scowled; he had caught Iruka in his repeat-semester, which Iruka might not have taken entirely seriously. Daikoku-sensei had been an assistant teacher then, and as such sent out on several trips to apprehend Iruka fleeing the sight of one of his pranks.

He had _never_ returned successful. There might have been some slight resentment there (as evidenced by the muttered “why the hell did they let the class clown back?”).

Still, between Daikoku-sensei, Ouno-sensei and Suzume-san, Iruka suddenly had an overly interested audience. He viscerally missed Mitsuhara-sensei and his ability to see around the corner. Unfortunately, since he became the Head of the Academy, Mitsuhara-sensei did not attend these informal gatherings anymore, understanding that his presence would be in the way of his colleagues’ unwinding.

“Ah,” Iruka replied as sheepishly as he could, “I’ve left all that behind. I’m taking this assignment very seriously-”

Ouno-sensei looked skeptical, but at least he did not voice his doubts.

“-and I appreciate the faith my teachers are extending to me.” He smiled at Ouno-sensei and Daikoku-sensei, knowing full well that the form that faith had taken was a direct order from Hokage-sama. Still, Iruka could fake graciousness with the best of them.

Especially since he knew what was at the forefront of all their minds. _Failed the jounin exam_. They had never tried – none of them – as far as Iruka knew. And if they had tried, it hadn’t made the grapevine.

Either Iruka was just more interesting than all of them, or this wave of gossip had been released on purpose to further humiliate him. He didn’t know whom to ask – aside from Kakashi, but knowing Kakashi, the infuriating man would just turn on the full force of his nonchalance at Iruka, and give exactly no answers beside ‘saa’.

Iruka loved him, that was a given, but Kakashi would never, in all their lives, _share_.

It was… Well, once upon a time, Iruka would have thought it was a deal breaker. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he had needed to learn to _trust_ and… honestly, with Kakashi that was easy.

“You’re way too good at the _sensei_ thing,” said Mizuki, and promptly laughed the exchange off.

“You’re teaching the trap course,” Ouno-sensei stated definitively. “To _all_ classes.”

With that seal of approval, Iruka truly could not worry about his path anymore. He was set on it firmly, and if there was no great prestige, no honour brought to the Clan, then he would have to believe that his parents would have been okay with him performing well in a mediocre position.

x

Jiraiya had sent Kakashi off with the parting words: “I’ve got business in Fujino-Cho, brat, so fuck off.” Kakashi took those warm words of advice to his heart, and did as ordered by his superior officer.

Konoha was within a day’s walk – within a few hours of run.

He felt like running.

The exercise felt good, and it freed his mind for the thinking he needed to do. It was almost as good as meditation.

He moved – parts of the way he took the road, parts went the familiar branch-branch-branch-catch-catch-catch rhythm – and all the while his mind was elsewhere. Crunching through the new information, putting the past decade into a new perspective.

He had not been sentenced to death by ANBU, Kakashi thought primarily. He had _not_ been sentenced to death. This knowledge impacted his life on too many levels for him to immediately figure out everything that would change.

The arbitrary realisation that he could actually _quit_ the ANBU if he so chose was there, of course, but his thoughts inevitably strayed to Iruka.

Branch-branch-catch-branch-catch-branch-catch.

He could… he could be serious about Iruka. He could… offer him a life. Not just a half-life of false promises and obfuscations and the wait for the inevitable notice of expiry. A real life – or, as real as it ever got for shinobi.

Catch-branch.

He could not explain why this seemed like the second most frightening enemy he had ever faced.

x

Iruka had initially welcomed the sympathy, especially as it came in the form of Mizuki offering to pay for their drinks. However, half an hour into what was supposed to be a relaxing evening at the bar, Iruka was ready to pour his next drink over Mizuki’s head and walk out like some kind of a shoujo manga heroine.

“Don’t be like that, Iruka,” Mizuki placated him, looking so earnest that Iruka only felt and couldn’t actually prove that Mizuki was mocking him. “It’s not the end of the world. You know you’re a second-time tester. Your gennin exam, your chuunin exam…”

Yes, Iruka was well aware. He was also aware that Mizuki was trying to cheer him up, but apparently Mizuki was crap at cheering people up, because if he were even a little competent at it he would have shut up about Iruka’s most recent failure, not brought up his earlier failures in addition, and changed the topic to something unrelated.

Kami-sama, even talking about _other people’s failures_ would have been better than this, however unkind!

“Ya know wha’?” said a voice from the next table over. “I can’t lis’n to this. I lir’lly can’t take one more second. Ya say ‘nother word, shitstain, ‘n I’ll get up, _wobble_ over there, ‘n punch you in that wagglin’ jaw!”

Everyone in the room looked that way, including the barkeeper, but the only person whose eyes were met by the speaker was Mizuki.

She didn’t look like much, to be honest. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail and she was glaring (blearily, through an alcoholic haze) over her shoulder – otherwise Iruka could only see the back of her trench coat from his vantage point. Still, the accompanying killing intent was nothing to scoff at, and Iruka found himself wishing Mizuki was less stubborn and more easily cowed.

He didn’t want to end this night with a bar fight.

“Yeah, you’ve had enough,” said one of the angry lady’s companion drinkers. There were five empty bottles on their table and only four people around it, so he had a point. “C’mon, we can continue at Aoba’s house. Drunk us is _not_ a sight for public consumption.”

“Hehehe, _consumption_!” repeated another of their companions with a snort and a hiccup.

Mizuki clenched his jaw, for once decided to be the bigger man, and turned back to Iruka, pretending that the whole interlude had not happened.

“Oi, kid!” the woman exclaimed.

This time, when people looked over, it was Iruka whose eyes were met.

“C’mon, cutie. Ditch the mor’n. Come drink with us.”

“Anko…” grumbled the man who was mostly holding her upright.

Iruka blinked at her. “Err… that’s very kind of you. But I’d prefer to stay.”

She seemed drunk enough to push it – and now that she was standing and facing them, Iruka could see that aside from the coat she was just wearing a miniskirt and some mesh, and was very glad for his blush-defusing technique. _Anko_ , huh? An interesting person.

Fortunately, she just stuck out her tongue, muttered something like ‘your loss’ and let the other guys drag her away.

“Now there’s an argument against advancing,” Mizuki said conspiratorially, leaning close enough that Iruka could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Imagine you would be forced to spend time with _those_ people, because _they_ would actually comprise your social circle.” He theatrically shuddered.

Iruka smiled, sipped his drink, and said nothing.

Actually, his first impression of the drunk ‘Anko’ kunoichi had been a pretty good one.

x

Kakashi might not have had any sort of hearing-related kekkei genkai like some other shinobi he wouldn’t name, but he was excellent at the shut-up-and-listen information-gathering technique. In between checking in at the Gate, checking in with Missions Desk and the leisurely stroll along the scenic route to his apartment, Kakashi had put together the mosaic of what had happened in the week he had been gone. The simple answer was: not much.

Kakashi stripped his mission gear, brewed a pot of tea and sat down at the kitchen table to go through the obligatory inspection of all his kunai and shuriken. The busywork freed his mind for more serious contemplation.

The more complicated answer, and the one he was actually interested in, was: everyone knew about Iruka’s rejection for jounin. This was interesting, and not in a good way. Iruka had not told Kakashi about applying for jounin – and that was as it should have been. No one who was even remotely ready for the advancement would have informed anyone in advance. It was a private decision, resulting from a private thought process, and the promotion itself was all _anybody_ needed to know of.

Rejections were off-hand, arbitrary, and _definitely not publicised_.

“You can leave off hiding,” Iruka’s voice came through the front door. “I know you’re in there.” A moment later he was inside the apartment, throwing a pile of paper carelessly onto the sofa and steadying himself with a grip on the door frame.

“Home straight from work, I see,” Kakashi remarked sarcastically, looking from Iruka’s slightly flushed cheeks to the sake-stain on his unzipped chuunin vest. Either he didn’t know that everybody knew (and talked) about his rejection, or he knew and didn’t give a damn (Kakashi did not subscribe to this version for a second) or he chose to fight against the derogatory whispering by pretending it wasn’t there.

“Why me?” Iruka inquired.

It could have been a rhetorical question, if not for the fact that Kakashi had recently asked something very similar of Jiraiya. To tell or not to tell was the question.

Telling was easier than standing by and watching as Iruka tried to figure it out himself.

“Politics. Speaking of, Jiraiya said sorry, but he didn’t regret it.”

Iruka scoffed, emboldened by the alcohol. “Of course not. One day I’ll get my hands on him, and he’ll know – he’ll know it doesn’t matter I’m _a chuunin_.” Tipsy and flushed with it was a good look on him.

“I have it on a good authority that you could take off at least his finger,” Kakashi mentioned. ‘Without even trying,’ he didn’t add, because delicious as angry Iruka was, this wasn’t the time to pour oil on a forest fire, and reminding this man of a failed past prank would have been at least a barrel’s worth.

Iruka snorted. “One day, he’ll come back and walk _straight_ into _several_ revenge plots. I’m sure there are other people he wrote about that would love a piece of that action.” He hesitated for a moment, then turned around and made his way to the bathroom.

Kakashi wished Iruka had drunk enough to not remember this in the morning. He liked Konoha. He would have preferred it to remain standing.

Besides, Jiraiya had not had malicious intentions. Not that intentions mattered all that much when the reckoning arrived.

“Where did it go so wrong?” Kakashi heard Iruka ask of the bathroom mirror.

‘It went wrong when you tried to work within a system that you don’t actually understand,’ he thought, but didn’t say. He still wasn’t sure what he _would_ say if Iruka asked him point blank. Anyway, that issue paled next to the ‘might not be a dead man walking after all’ paradigm shift.

He placed the last shuriken onto the pile that needed sharpening and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Irritatingly, it took him until after he had finished the motion to notice that it was a gesture he had picked up from Iruka – and a dangerously unique one at that. He would have to watch for it (luckily, his mask would usually get in the way).

“I bet Kakashi didn’t have to deal with this,” Iruka muttered over the trickle of running water and muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth, underestimating Kakashi’s hearing once again. “Not like he ever got a ‘fail’ from anyone.”

‘Mine was a war-time promotion,’ Kakashi replied inside his mind. For many, many reasons, he wouldn’t mention that he was in fact one of those few that could have gotten their promotion regardless of the time, if they were so motivated.

The whole mysterious secret of the rank was this: you became jounin by being jounin. That was all there was to it.

As far as Kakashi knew, no one had managed to cheat this test yet.

Running water sounded again; Iruka dragged himself out of the bathroom just as Kakashi was finished clearing off the table. He looked tired and a little too red-eyed (not alcohol this time, just the verge of crying) and unnaturally tentative in approaching Kakashi, who solved the problem by grabbing onto his lover and taking his welcome kiss.

It was, predictably, minty. And not very enthusiastic on Iruka’s part.

“I’m going to bed,” Iruka said, pushing himself away from the embrace. “Tell me about Jiraiya tomorrow?”

Kakashi shrugged and returned to finish his tea and fill a glass with water.

He wanted to say something about feelings. Wanted to make an apology for putting Iruka into far more danger than he had dared imagine. Wanted to be angry about old men with too much power and too few qualms about sticking their fingers into other people’s lives.

He put the glass of water into Iruka’s hands and watched him drink it, his eye inevitably drawn to the swallowing motion of Iruka’s throat.

He accepted the empty glass back and uncaringly set it onto the bedside, on top of the damn _Ero Ero Paradigm_. He was going to burn that book.

Later, though.

Iruka was more important – Iruka, who flopped backwards onto the mattress and covered his face with his forearm, so it was obvious that he was disappointed and still upset.

Kakashi sat down onto the floor and pulled pen and paper out of the bedside drawer. He started composing a report for the Hokage, determined to word it in a way that would discourage anyone from attempting to manipulate Kakashi and Iruka against one another ever again.

x

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Iruka grumbled finally, feeling derailed. He really wanted Kakashi to be an arse about the whole thing, so Iruka could yell at him and feel even sorrier for himself, and give him the cold shoulder once he came back and groveled. Ugh, Kakashi was pretending to be  oblivious it on purpose, he was sure.

As if Iruka hadn’t had enough stuff to be frustrated with.

“You’ve got brats early tomorrow?” Kakashi inquired, merrily skipping through the black cloud brewing everywhere in Iruka’s vicinity. How could he ignore that?

How could he ignore Iruka’s humiliating failure? Hadn’t he noticed the chuunin uniform?

“Tomorrow,” Iruka snapped. “The day after. And after. For the rest of my life, apparently.”

Kakashi raised his eye from the report he was writing and narrowed it in a smile. “Congratulations.”

“What?!” Iruka sat up and glared and gritted his teeth. “You didn’t miss that I’m still a chuunin, right?”

Kakashi nodded. “Sure. An Academy instructor. What you wanted and worked for. So, congratulations on achieving your dream.”

Iruka flopped back down onto the bed and pulled the covers up over his face. Why did Kakashi have to be right? Again? _Always_? It sucked, never winning an argument. He felt horrible, and wanted to let out the aggression growing in his gut before it exploded in some inappropriate fashion, but he was also tired, and there was a pressure behind his temples that he felt whenever he spent hours trying not to cry.

He knew that if he put his failure into perspective, he could consider himself incredibly lucky. No one died, there was no mission at risk, and the goal he didn’t achieve wasn’t even something that he yearned for. Not really.

It was his Mum’s ambition, not his own.

And his Mum, he didn’t doubt, would have been proud of him either way.

The first tear trickled down his cheek, hidden under the covers.

The mattress dipped as the weight of a body pressed it down. Kakashi curled up on his side with his back to Iruka; the line of contact – through the thin cover – warm with body heat.

**Author's Note:**

> So, the next story in this series will be a long one again, and it’s not quite done yet. I am working on it, but I won’t start posting until it’s finished, so there may be a longer wait than a week. It is coming, though, I promise.


End file.
